Vladyeneeye
by najiro
Summary: He was meant to be his. Not that damned, East-German bastard's... And with each bruise upon his delicate skin, Ivan's rage towards the Canadian's so-called 'lover' grows. Three-shot. AU. One-sided RusCan. PrusCan. Contains abuse.
1. Глазами Иван

**Владение**

Faded purple and yellow stains marred his wrist, ugly flowers blooming in a field of pure, innocent snow. Red rimmed those beautiful, cerulean eyes, a hurt and questioning pout molding his coral lips into an expression that drove Ivan into agony. The high collar of his shirt dipped forward slightly, revealing the ghosts of fingerprints dug into the graceful curve of his neck.

The Russian found himself scowling into his still steaming coffee. He had only bought it because Matvey, his precious Matvey, had been the one to serve it. He wanted to find the man that was hurting his Matvey and tear him to shreds. He was broken from his bloody reverie by the quiet voice beside his ear. "I-Is there anything else I can get for you?" The Canadian stammered at him, a bright, fake smile on his face.

"_You can get out of that relationship you're in. You can get away from the man who's hurting you. You can get him to come here, where I can beat him for all the hurt he's cause you. You're mine. He shouldn't be able to touch you like that."_

Instead, he only gave the young man a small, lopsided smile. "Da. Some water, please?" He couldn't bring himself to say it. He knew he couldn't change the Canadian's mind. After all, he had tried before…

"C-Coming right up." Another smile. Footsteps across the linoleum of the diner as Matvey walked away. And his face, crying to him, pleading to him not to worry. Imploring him not to hurt the East German bastard who took advantage of his innocence and ripped it to shreds.

"_H-he loves me… I k-know he does…"_ Tears running down his face. His voice quavering, as if he doesn't know if what he's saying is even true. _"H-He just got angry… I-It won't happen again…"_

But it did. It happened over and over and over again. Spotted arms, bruised eyes, bandages and stitches. He had even broken his wrist. And still, that false smile. That vow. "_He loves me._"

"_He doesn't love you, Matvey." _The Russian thought, placing a twenty dollar bill on the table and getting up to leave. _"He doesn't love you like I love you. He breaks you down, day after day, without preserving your beauty. You're mine. Not his. Mine."_ The thoughts pulsed through his head as he pulled the scarf over his nose, heading down the same roads he'd followed Matthew down many times before. He'd go to that apartment, and beat that piece of trash until he couldn't stand. He'd kill him for all that he had done, for all the bruises and all the tears he had inflicted upon his precious, delicate, Matthew.

He left the apartment hours later, shoving his bloodstained hands in his pockets. His violet eyes focused on the snow-stained streets of the city, watching as Matthew passed him. He knew the little blonde might cry and scream. But he had done it for him. He had tortured that East German son of a bitch, watched him bleed, broken his bones, all for the small blonde and those feathery bruises on his snowy skin.

"_He won't hurt you anymore."_ The Russian stopped, looking back at the Canadian entering the apartment complex. _"Ya lublu tyebya, moy Matvey…"_

* * *

Language Notes:

Title : Vladyeneeye - Possession. Russian.  
1. Matvey - Matthew. Russian.  
2. Ya lublu tyebya, moy Matvey - I love you, my Matthew. Russian.

* * *

Author's notes:  
I have no idea what the hell this is. It's a random drabblefic inspired by nothing than a strong mental image in my head.  
I'm sorry. I do not /like/ the Prussia x Canada pairing. Prussia seems a little too... Rough for poor Matthew to put up with for long. And Russia? Well, he's not much better, now is he?  
Russia feels slightly OOC for me. But, I must remind you, he does have a softer side. A childlike, innocent side. Albiet, it comes with a posessive personality, which I hopefully portrayed correctly.

Anyway, enough of these mad writer's ramblings.  
Ignore this drabble.


	2. Durch die Augen von Gilbert

**Ende**

Damn. This was so unawesome.

That singular thought pulsed through the East-German's brain as the world around him began to fade. This was so fucking unawesome. That Russian bastard had come to the door… Had demanded he break up with Matthew- HIS Matthew. Like hell.

Matthew was his. After all, how many time had the little Canadian given himself to him? How many times had he seen him beg for more, no matter if he'd struggled in the beginning. How many times had Mattie, sweet little Mattie, ended up under him? How long had they been together? Since high school? Matthew was /his/, dammit.

Closing his red eyes, he tried to focus on why the bastard had done it. Abuse? He was abusive? No. No… Every time he had to hit Matthew, it had been Matthew's fault. It wasn't his fault that Matthew didn't stick up for himself. That he couldn't even get one foot out the door on his own. That he kept crawling back to him. Matthew needed him. Matthew wanted him.

He remembered the first time it happened. He was a junior. Mattie was a freshman. They had been going out for months. He'd said no. Gilbert convinced him otherwise. And when they were done making love in the back of his car, he'd apologized. Damn, it hurt, to see the Canadian cry.

But Mattie had stayed with him. He secretly wanted it. Right? Right? He was his.

That Russian bastard. That damn Russian bastard. He'd had no place to come here and demand they break up. He had no place to shove him back into the apartment. To punch him, kick him, kill him… A rasping breath shuddered from his lips. Damn. Damn, it was so unawesome to die like this…

He heard the rattle of the door handle, the small, startled shriek of his lover. And then, nothing.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This may seem slightly out of character for Prussia. But then again, this is AU Drabblefic.  
The cracked mentality... kinda bothers me. But, hey, cut the guy some slack- he's dying over here...


End file.
